


ink-stained feathers

by athena3062



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark Swan, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena3062/pseuds/athena3062
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a live wild thing, the darkness, raging through her body like a fever. She can feel it reshaping her into something beautiful (something frightful).</p>
            </blockquote>





	ink-stained feathers

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of Dark Swan speculation. No real spoilers.

The power is exhilarating, rising quickly to the surface, demanding to be set loose. She feels the overpowering rush of her new magic, ragged silken ribbons weaving and binding in complicated patterns. It brushes against her face, stinging like a bitter winter wind, boundless and uncontrollable.

She feels an already familiar tingle at the base of her skull. Her lips curl into a feral smile.

They’re trying to bring her back, to summon her with the Dark One’s dagger. Her dagger, she corrects with satisfaction, all hers.

She feels the dagger tugging between her shoulder blades; annoying, not compelling.

Her mind moves faster than ever, new information taking hold as the seconds tick past, pushing away the unnecessary, shadows swallowing the light.

The words aren’t enough: they need to mean each syllable, truly want to command the Dark One, for the summons to work. Only the strong emotions have any hold over her (love, hate, fear).

Laughter fills her throat.

The sensation changes, buzzing insistently like a tattoo needle. He has the dagger now. She can feel the difference, but it’s still not enough. If he wanted her to appear, she wouldn’t have a choice (and he knows as much, understands the Dark One lore more than any hero ever could).

It’s amusing, imagining him going through the motions, performing for the benefit of her parents. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as she’d thought (it calms her to imagine him at her side, the way he was before he grew comfortable).

She could give in, return and show them exactly what the Dark One can do, but she doesn’t want a spectacle. She wants to dig her hands deep into the center of her new power, to see how it feels.

It’s a live wild thing, the darkness, raging through her body like a fever. She can feel it reshaping her into something beautiful (something frightful).

She reaches into her chest, pulling out her heart in a smooth motion. Turning it between her fingers, she considering its weight, repulsed and fascinated by the way it feels cradled in her palm. With only his heart for comparison (she hadn’t studied it, shoving it back into his chest at the first opportunity), she doesn’t know if hers is brighter than normal.

Her thoughts turn to Hook. Her hands twitch, imagining the feel of his leather coat beneath her palms, desire building.

She wants her pirate. And the Dark One always gets what the Dark One wants.

//

The hunger is relentless, insatiable, growing more demanding as the hours pass.

She’s installed herself on the Jolly Roger, in his quarters. Once she may have felt guilty, spreading her wings over someone else’s nest, but now she doesn’t spare a thought.

The ship doesn’t like her, groaning and creaking despite the calm water, but she doesn’t care. She’s bored.

His narrow bed has been replaced (the mere glimmer of a thought is enough to pull things to her). She reclines against the pillows, bare legs on a luxurious blanket she’d conjured from imagination.  
  
The air shifts when he climbs aboard, footsteps loud. Before she would have waited. Now she’s impatient.

The command (a soft plea echoing inside his mind) brings him into the cabin, the dagger clutched in his right hand.

He doesn’t speak, his eyes flickering over the once-familiar walls and her (spayed across the bed, surrounded by pillows).

Her last words no longer feel real, stripped of meaning in the darkness. She can feel his unspoken questions, restless between them.

When he sheds his boots and climbs onto the bed, she doesn’t hide her satisfied smirk. He never did deny her anything.

She’s greedy, chasing her insatiable wants with a singular focus. They don’t speak.

Ignored, the words crumble to ash, replaced with hungry kisses and strong fingers tracing familiar paths.

When she falls apart beneath him, she can feel the powerful pulse of her new magic. The air crackles with its power, rippling through the cabin, surrounding their bodies.

The sun rises higher in the sky, warming the cabin. She waits until he’s left her bed before she considers the dagger (its blade just visible beneath the bed).

She missed her pirate, all swagger and suggestion, his dark hair messy. But when he turns, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her skin (colder than porcelain, glittering in the sunlight), she knows. It’s only an illusion.

He tried to distract her; she doesn’t care why, not when her dagger is so close. He lunges but she’s faster.

She curls her fingers around its handle, savoring the rush.

She doesn’t feel evil (or guilty or sad or obligated). She feels alive, every nerve-ending tingling, senses sharp.

It’s easy to slide into the darkness, surrendering to its warmth. She’s free.

Her lips twist into an ugly smile. He’s still standing in the same spot.

She has his attention (as usual). Her magic throbs, desperate to escape.

“I love you.” The words fall like feathers, twisted and dark.

She vanishes from the cabin before he can react.

No more hiding in the shadows. It’s time to show Storybrooke exactly what the Dark One can do.


End file.
